Disclaimer: AA ownes 'em and I wish they'd make a damn movie already!

Author's Notes:

Story Notes: Set about 1.5 years after the show ended. Vecchio and Stella have broken up, Ray K and Fraser are living in Canada, Vecchio is back at the 27.

This story is a sequel to: Taking out the Trash 3/?

Taking out the Trash 4

There were pillows and blankets and no one else in the bed, which was strange enough so I squinted my eyes open to try and figure out where I was without letting on that I didn't have a clue. There were two guys talking, not close, and nothing to see but a beige wall and a nightstand with an old fashioned clock that said it was way, way too early--or sometime in the evening--the window was dark. My arm didn't hurt so much and that was good, I was naked and clean and that wasn't so good. I couldn't remember how I'd got that way and who the hell knew what had happened to my ass when I wasn't watching it. I didn't feel bad, I felt pretty good in fact--I was feeling good enough to be hungry. Footsteps came over and I closed my eyes but the bed sagged and I couldn't help edging away.

"Want some breakfast?" The voice wasn't Ranger Rick and they weren't buying my fake sleep so I rolled over and opened my eyes. It was a tall guy, skinny, blond hair done up like a punk rocker and the glasses weren't as goofy as I remember from my grandmum's pictures. The skinny wasn't geeky though it was lean and harsh. Not like the pictures of him. I'd kinda figured my uncle for a looser, a goof. That was the only way I'd heard anyone talk about him but this guy wasn't a goof, not with that look in his eye, like he'd lived through more shit than most people. He was in some old stretched out sweater and brown work pants, which was better than me. It was my uncle, I was pretty sure. And, even if he wasn't, he had a bowl of something steaming hot and that was good enough for me, at least right now.

"Sure," I sat up and snagged the bowl, shrugging to myself about the naked thing. I guess he'd seen it already, if he'd been the one to clean me up. It was oatmeal; once upon a time, I didn't like oatmeal but nowadays, I liked any kind of food I could get. It was hot, even better, and I shoveled it down, clumsy with my bad hand, as quick as I could.

"So, uh--" he was drinking coffee--I could smell it--and watched me with something like anger and maybe pity pulling his mouth down. "I'm Ray Kowalski--Stanley Ray Kowalski. You're looking for me, aren't you?"

I'd eaten too fast and was feeling kinda sick, looking at his face and suddenly not knowing what to say. I couldn't tell much, he wasn't letting me see anything about what he thought or what I could use. I been too busy getting here to figure out what line to spin when I did find my uncle. Or maybe I didn't really believe I would. But here I was and here he was and now what? "I--uh--" I scraped up the last of the oatmeal and licked the spoon. "Hey, you got any more coffee?"

"Sure," he took my bowl away and went off to the other room. It gave me a few moments anyway, and some coffee too. The room wasn't much; the bed was big, the blanket was heavy white wool with green stripes. There was darkness outside the window, maybe it was morning but I wasn't sure. The dresser looked like it came from the Goodwill but the stuff on top was personal--pictures and a stack of CDs and a little boom box. The chair in the room had a bathrobe over it and a table with books stacked on it. The room was kind of--industrial or something--like a hotel room, no one was going to chose that ugly paint for themselves. The sheets were clean, that was nice.

On the nightstand, next to the alarm clock, was a picture and I saw myself. It was me and the grandfolks and Julie. Pop had taken it, I could tell just from the look in my eyes. I rubbed a finger over the picture, it was weird seeing myself like that, back then. It made me wonder if Julie was okay, if Pop had started beating her up when I was gone. This guy had to be my uncle and I wondered wondered if he was going to be like pop, if I'd just got myself back in the garbage can again. Uncle Stanely looked like the kidna guy that you didn't mess with and I didn't want to be his punching bag.

I could hear my uncle out there talking and this time I recognized the other voice as Ranger Rick--Benton Fraser, I remember him saying.

"What did he say?" The Fraser guy was going.

"That he wanted some coffee," my uncle said. "Inhaled the oatmeal like he hadn't eaten for a week."

"Well, hopefully not so quickly he's going to vomit. We need to leave soon, Ray, so we can take him to the clinic and I can get to work."

"Yeah, got it Ben, but I don't wanna rush the kid. He looks pretty skittish, he hasn't even told me his name yet."

"I imagine this is very distressing for him."

"Well, I wanna know who shot him."

"Indeed, so do I."

I rubbed my side, where the thick scab still ached. I didnt wanna know who shot me, I just wanted to forget the whole thing--and be forgotten. Being invisible was about the best thing I could hope for. Being invisible was pretty much the story of my life.

"Here's coffee," my uncle came back with a smile but it wasn't much of a real one. "Room service even."

"Sure," I said, burning my mouth on the first sip. "Thanks."

He plucked the picture from my lap and I jerked back instinctively, sloshing hot coffee over my fingers, cursing. I didn't get a lecture, or even a look, just a shrug and a quirked brow.

"So--" he said.

"Yeah, uh--" I swallowed and stared at the coffee in the thick white mug. Plain stuff, everything was pretty plain, not like a family. At least, not what I remembered from home--when I had something like a family. "I figured I could visit my uncle right? I'm Josh, see. Joshua Damien Kowalski, like the picture."

"We thought so," Ray was looking at the photo, frowning and then he popped a big question. "Did my brother do--that--your arm? The graze?"

"No!" I said before I could think about it and something hard eased in his face.

"Okay, good--who did?" He shot that right back at me and I froze up.

I didn't want to tell him what had happened. I didn't want to tell anyone, I figured that was the best way to not get found, not get killed and it wasn't like I cared that some old mobster got whacked when I was there. There were, I finally figured, a lot of things I didn't want to be telling my uncle--like why I was here, where I'd been and why I'd left home in the first place. That meant there wasn't much I did want to tell him. So here I was, staring at this guy I'd never met and didn't know what to say to him.

"Ray?" Ranger Rick stuck his head in the doorway. "We need to get going."

I was saved by the fucking bell. I think. "Where?"

Ray hopped off the bed and dug around in the wardrobe against the wall, not answering until he came back to me with an armful of clothing. "Town. You need a doctor for that arm and Ben's gotta get to work."

"I don't need a doctor." I said. Doctor's meant more questions--maybe social services if they had that kinda stuff up here--and if I didn't have answers for this guy I was hoping would take me in, I sure didn't have answers for a bunch of doctors. "I'm feeling better."

My answer brought Fraser into the room, hat in hand. "I did some basic field work on your arm but you do need professional attention. It's seriously infected."

"Yeah, it's disgusting," I muttered, running a hand over the neat new bandages. "But it doesn't hurt so bad now."

"Well I'm sure the visit to the clinic will be quite short then," he said patiently, not budging an inch.

"Here, clean clothes--yours were nasty. Get 'em on and come on out," Ray dropped the pile on my bed and the two of them left the room.

It wasn't like I had a lot of options and I knew it and they knew it. I was pretty much at the end of the line as far as money and stuff went, so pissed or not; I'd be doing whatever they wanted. I'd have to take what they gave me until I got my feet under me and figured out what I wanted to do now that I was all the way in bumfuck Canada. So, I dragged myself out the bed and put on the clothes; all of it was too big, no surprise, but it was warm and there was a lot of it. I put it all on, I'd survived one winter in Chicago by wearing anything I could get my hands on and it was colder up here. "Okay," I came out into a room I didn't remember; living room with a red metal fireplace and a kitchenette off to one side. Same beige walls as the bedroom, this place had to be some kind of rental. "Okay, I guess I'm ready."

I was packed in a too big coat, a long scarf and we hustled outside where the cold hit me like a bus, it made me stumble it was so bad. When the uniform put an arm out, I shoved him the fuck away; he was too damn big, I didn't want him grabbing me. Guys like that, it wasn't good for them to get too close. "I can fucking walk!"

"Quit with the fucking, already," Ray said, giving me a hard glance and a frown.

"So, quit with the grabbing."

"I apologize," Fraser said. "I thought you might stumble."

"I'm fu--I'm fine."

"Of course you are."

"Whatever."

I don't think I'd ever been so glad to get into a car before and huddled in the back seat, shuddering until the heat started to hit me. "Is it always this cold?"

"Nah," Ray said, turning so I could see his smirk in profile. "Sometimes it's colder."

"Great," I pulled the scarf up higher on my face. The cold was making my arm ache like a son-of-a-bitch and the lurching of the car over the snow was throwing me all over the back seat, I was beginning to worry that I'd be seeing that oatmeal again real soon now.

"So, you didn't mention. Who shot ya?"

I clutched at the doorhandle and braced myself in a corner while Fraser drove the car over the packed snow, following the trail of older tracks in the snow. "Dunno."

"You might be more secure with a seatbelt," Fraser said mildly, like buckling up for safety was all he ever thought about. I shoved my feet against the well and ignored him. Maybe he was a chauffeur.

"Dunno, huh? Like a mugger dunno?"

"Sure."

"Hm. So, where were ya when it went down? Anthony lives in Austin don't he? You come up all the way from there? No wonder you're freezing."

"Um--"

"You have a distinctive Chicago accent, Josh," Fraser broke in again. "And relatively little southwest twang. Your original clothes were better suited to a cold climate and well worn."

"Jeeze, who are you?" I looked over at Ray. "Who is this guy?"

Ray snorted. "He's a Mountie. Royal Canadian Mounted Police. My partner."

"A cop. Fucking great."

"Foul language reveals a poor imagination," Fraser, the mountie said. Like I cared.

"Yeah, well, no one said I was smart," I snapped and that made Ray frown when all the cursing hadn't. "So, how long are we going to be driving in the snow?"

I wanted to get these guys off my case, find something else to talk about. I was almost looking forward to the doctors, with the third degree I was getting here.

"Ten more minutes," Fraser said, I caught him looking at me in the mirror and jerked my face aside to avoid his eyes. Yeah, he was a cop alright, with those eyes. "Yes, Josh, I'm a police officer. I do need to know why you're here visiting your uncle."

"Yah, and we'll call Anthony and let him know you're okay."

"No!" I blurted out, cold at the thought. Getting shipped back to my folks Pop'd fucking kill me. For real. Which was worse, getting shot by the mob or beaten to death by your Pop?

"Why not?" Fraser asked softly and I couldn't answer, just leaned my face against the freezing window and watched all the white and gray go by outside. It was a little lighter out, guess it was morning. They let me be until we were in town--the same town I'd walked out of yesterday--and pulled into a garage next to a small hospital. The big red cross, lit up enough to be seen even in the dull gray light, gave it away. Ray put a hand on my shoulder when we got out.

"Josh, you know we need to contact your parents," he said quietly. "You're a minor. I'm not your legal guardian and you're an American citizen."

"They must be very worried," Fraser put in.

"They haven't seen me for a fucking year and a half," I snarled at him. "They're probably glad I'm outta their hair. What if it was my Pop who shot me, huh? Wouldn't you be putting me in danger if you shipped me home?"

"Was it?" Ray's voice was hard. "Because that would mean calling the police in Austin about it--and me flying down there to kick him in the head but good."

They could arrest my Pop. I liked my lips with a smirk, thinking of Pop in jail, in prison, getting a taste of what he'd given me all my life. I could almost see it--bars and fights and nasty things in some prison shower--and if I was some kind of normal kid maybe it would bother me but it didn't. It was--pretty tempting, except that there was no way I'd get away with it. "No," I said sullenly. "He didn't shoot me but--"

I touched Ray's arm with my mitten and tried to look desperate--it wasn't hard, I was pretty damn desperate. "He--uh--really, I've been out on my own for a while now."

Ray's hand tightened on my shoulder, his face tightened too, lines cutting deep around his mouth and he looked bitter and angry. "How long, Josh? How long on your own?"

"Maybe two years, almost." I couldnt look away from Ray's eyes, they pale blue and should've been cold but they were hot, like the blue center of a fire. He knew. He knew about Pop and me. Somehow, he knew. I shook a little, remembering again he was my uncle--a Kowalski--and maybe he was just like my Pop. Sweat was cold at my hairline and I could feel just how hard he was holding me that there was no getting away.

"What about your mother?" The mountie saved my ass, putting a hand on Ray's shoulder and he jerked away, turning away from us and striding off to lean on the car with his shoulders hunched. "Won't she worry?"

I just shrugged. I'd worked real hard to not think about her since I'd run away. I couldn't care, couldn't feel guilty. "She'd never done nothing to help me, so fuck her."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Fraser said and I realized I'd said that out loud and winced.

"Come on, you guys wanted to take me to the doctor, right?" I said stomping to the doorway, wanting the heat and wanting to get away from any more questions. I glanced back, my uncle was watching me, something kind of desperate in his face. Fraser looked like a Ken doll, polite and porn-star pretty. "Look, I'm not even sure where my folks are anymore, okay? Can't we just drop it?"

"For now." Fraser said evenly and we went inside.

Ray let Ben walk the kid in to see the doctors because he was about ready to blow a gasket. It was a damn good thing his brother was 2000 miles away, 'cause any closer and he'd be getting a Ray Kowalski knuckle sandwich. And wasn't that just the fucking problem?

"Agggh!" He kicked the wall in the waiting room. Then a couple more times. It didnt help. So he dug his hands into his hair and paced, waiting for Ben to come back and make it right.

Joshua had looked like a trapped rat, pushed into the corner of the back seat, and about as friendly as one. He took after the geek side of the family, Ray could tell; skinny and long, he didn't think the reddish-blond hair was a dye job and he had the same funny looking hands everyone in the family did. If he remembered right, Joshua was supposed to be fifteen or something, but it didnt show. There wasn't any kid left in that suspicious, hard face; Ray had seen those kinds of kids too much in Chicago, walking the streets, scamming for change, lying on Mort's table with no name and no future. That was his nephew in there, his family, and he'd been out in the cold for almost two years?

"Ray, Ray."

"He could'a died, Ben." Ray burst out. "He could'a died and been just another toe tag. Just another street kid, you know "

"I've asked to doctors to contact me with their medical results," Ben said, patiently talking between Ray's frantic ranting.

" you know no one would'a done anything. You know how it is and he's my fucking nephew!"

"You're listed as in loco parentis until this is straightened out and I'll handle his case."

"My family!"

"I know," Ben said, gripping his arms and steadying Ray's agitation. Ben was there, Ben was there for him, blue eyes steady. "I know, Ray. We'll help him."

Ray took a deep breath and blew it out. Ben let him go with a last, gentle shake. "Okay, okay. I'm good. I'm gonna call my Mum and find out what's going on down there, right? Then take Joshua around and get him some clothes or something, meet up in the afternoon at your office."

"I'll check for missing person reports in Texas," Ben said. "When it was filed and any details there. Ray you understand we will have to contact his parents."

"Yeah," Ray scanned the waiting room, empty except for the desk nurse who was politely ignoring them both. He glanced sidelong at Ben, in uniform, the cop on the case here, not just his partner. Ben had to do what was right, what was the law, but sometimes the two weren't the same. "Yeah, I know that. But maybe we could find out what's going on first, huh? Not make things worse for Joshua. Ya think?"

Ben rubbed his eyebrow. "Let's see what we find. I've asked the doctors to give Joshua a pretty thorough exam; x-rays and so forth. That may reveal any pattern " He trailed off with another fidget.

"Of abuse," Ray finished tightly. He squeezed Ben's shoulder. "Yeah. It's a good idea. Gotta be done."

Ben's hand covered his. "I'm sorry, Ray."

Ray shrugged. "Lemme go call my Mum."

"I'll see you this afternoon."

His phone rang, jerking him out of Ronnie 'The Pea' Darko's case. "Vecchio!"

"Ah, Detective Vecchio, this is Yolanda Price, forensics from the 15."

"Yeah?"

"You put out a request for any info an street kids, white, 13 to 18, killed mob-style."

"Uh-hu," Vecchio yanked out his Spannetti file. They had a hit, maybe. "Yeah, looking for hustlers with a record that came in dead in the last week."

"Got one for you. Found this morning, one shot to the back of the head."

They had a hit all right, literally. "Well, that's a classic." Vecchio knew the style real well, the single shot to the back of the head was Armondo's signature stroke. "We'll want to see the body and do some DNA testing. Be down in--twenty minutes."

Vecchio hung up the phone with a sigh. Looking at dead kids before lunch really shot the rest of the day. He grabbed his coat and yelled for his partner. "O'Brian, we got some life in the Spanetti case!"

O'Brian popped out of the break room with coffee in his hand. "What?"

"Dead kid."

"Oh, wonderful."

"Isn't it just?" Vecchio shrugged on his coat and they stepped out into the cold rain.

They got there and the dead kid wasn't anyone they expected. A bad dye job and skinny tweaker body. Not much left of the face, after the exit wound but Vecchio still knew him. "Ah, shit. It's Scotty."

"You know the victim?" Yolanda Price turned out to be the physician at the morgue, a neat and tidy black women without any nonsense like German opera. Vecchio could see trading Mort in for her, anytime.

"Sort of," Vecchio sighed, glancing over to the evidence bag on the nearby table to see the mesh shirt he remembered. "Gave me some information last night."

"Hm." Yolanda nodded to the body. "Died sometime late last night, early morning. Single shot, some pre-death bruising, ligature marks on his wrists."

"Didn't see anything like that last night," he said. Vecchio was wondering about Scotty's whisper soft friend, if they were dead too. If this murder had anything to do with the case. "But it was pretty dark and he's a hustler, could've been a trick."

He ate another Altiods, to cover the smell, and nodded at Yolanda. "Fax me a copy of the report will ya?"

At her nod, Vecchio collected O'Brian from the hallway outside the morgue and they headed back to familiar territory.

"Think the kid was killed because of the case?" O'Brian asked in the insulated silence of the car.

"Street kids die all the time." Rain pounded down all around them, the wipers giving Vecchio a few precious moments of clarity, revealing the hunched shoulders and sea of umbrellas out on the sidewalks of the city. Somewhere out, maybe, was a kid who could put away one of the biggest bosses in the city. If they were still here. If they were still alive.

"Yup, not so many by a mob hit though."

"I know. I got some calls to make, maybe get a break on this thing," Vecchio had tried to get through to Kowalski's mother. So far no go, and if he couldn't get hold of her today, he'd be making a long distance call to Canada. He wasn't looking forward to talking to Kowalski, especially not telling him somebody with his last name had been giving Papa Spanetti a blow job minutes before the guy got whacked. "You wanna do some footwork on The Pea's case while I sit on the phone?"

"In the rain?" O'Brian asked sullenly.

"Yeah, well that case is growing gray hairs," Vecchio shot O'Brian a glance. "Or, chat up Mort about the DNA he got off of Spanetti?"

O'Brian grimaced, Vecchio grinned. "Give me the The Pea's case."

Vecchio hadn't been able to get hold of the older Kowalski's. He dropped the phone into its cradle and stared at it. He wanted to talk to Kowalski over the phone about as much as he wanted to talk to him in person, which was to say, not at all. It still bothered him whenever he thought about Benny and Stanley being queer together. Benny was weird but queer, Vecchio didn't get that. Made him wonder sometimes, what Kowalski had done to get Benny bent. Sometimes he wondered--and tried hard not to--if Benny had been like that all along and he'd never caught on. Some detective all right. And, you know, talking to Benny was a lot more appealing and he was a cop right? So, cop to cop, Vecchio could call him.

TBC 120704

End Taking out the Trash 4/? by XTricks: x_tricks2000@yahoo.com

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